Right and left talk to me
with words of slime and silk
and I'm damned if I know
which one I should follow.
Where I came from twisted,
only meandered round
the wreckage, the rubble,
ignored all the trouble.
Now that there's this, a choice,
staring coldly like ice,
freezing false assurance
that had warmed my conscience.
Right or left, this or that,
what I should or my want?
The crossroad can't caution,
just presents the options.
It's 2am and I should be asleep but I am up and writing the odd note or two down on my notepad and listening to some songs. One I've found myself playing on repeat is 'Tragic Love' from the Final Fantasy IX OST, it really is inspiring when I'm in the mood to write!
What songs do others listen to if they are in the mood for writing, if they do at all? 'Modern Leper' by Frightened Rabbit is another common one of mine.
So come on, the perfect inspiration playlist, what is it for you?
I was watching an online video the other day about the development of ideas and how some are more successful than others, while being more or less the same thing. The example they focused on was the Macintosh computer - a direct copy more or less of an earlier model by a different company that was just made popular by superior marketing strategies and a cheaper price. The video was more less trying to say that no matter what you come up with for an idea, it is not unique. My signature quotes from the video.
This gave me a lot of heart. I watched this video - about 10mins long - in the middle of writing out some serious plans for a novel idea I have had in my head for a long time. Nothing in my story will be unique - I accept that - but I really haven't read anything like what I am planning. So now, with my central plot and characters drawn up I plan to make a start as soon as I feel I am ready to do so.
I don't mind that my story may have been told before. Because no idea is unique. But only some variations are executed successfully, and that's what I have to aim for.
This isn't really anything in particular, other than a wee exercise to familiarise myself writing in first person. The main protagonist and the other characters have all been created for the purpose of a novel. This is just a little thing to get used to them too!
"In here lads. Now."
"Yes, Boss," came our mumbled responses at once. None of us was going to argue with him when he gave such a direct order. To do so would reult in a punishment that would be worse than suicide, knowing the Boss.
The room was small, barely sizable for a couple of us, nevermind all five. An empty circular table dominated the room, with some tiny three-legged excuses for chairs scattered randomly around. The one lavish backed chair was, of course, already taken before any of us could get our hands - or bottom for that matter - on to it. The room's only light came from a skeletal framed chandelier dangling over our heads: down here in the deepest bowels of our hideout there was no place for natural light to enter. Natural light meant others could see inside, and this was not a place the Boss wanted to bring attention to.
The rest of us squeezed round the opposite half of the round table as the Boss sat back, willfully and obviously smothering his imatience as we shuffled and barged ourselves into comfortable, or at least barable, positions to give him full attention. That annoyance passed, the Boss launched straight into things, as was his habit when it came to 'formal' meetings of the group:
"Right, listen up, the lot of you. Shit gets serious right now, got it?" He didn't wait for a reponse. "We're making our move tonight, the quicker we're through with it the better."
I was totally fine with this revelation. It did me no good to be left idling as we waited for our time to make a move. It meant less time for my mind to start wondering. Shit! Like it is right now, focus!
"Y'all know our wherebouts now at the quays, and if you don't then tough 'cause I ain't giving you a geography lecture." I snapped back to attention and realised the Boss had unfurled a map of the city and was pointing to the 'X' that marked our current position. The details he had added in red ink to help with planning the mission made the map look chaotic and cluttered, like there was far too many details crammed onto the fading parchemnt scroll. That was of no matter to me though: I already knew the city well from younger days...
Focus! Oh yeah, right, back to the Boss!
"When night hits we'll be moving out sharp so be ready. That goes to you too, Nolan." The big man beside me nodded and gave a grunt of approval. He always took his time, and delayed our starts. It could get pretty frustrating, but at least now he was being warned. That might just spur him on a bit. "I mean it, no slacking.
"We'll be heading out in two groups. Nolan, you're going with Steven, so are you Urgal. Greg, you're with me." I glanced towards Steven who as ever remained blank faced and unemotional. Urgal and Nolan, the behemothic brothers, nodded and wore a shared steely expression of determination on their stern facial features. I tore my gaze away to look back at the Boss. He was already going on.
"I'll take Greg round this east entrance here and get in there where only the two guards should be on duty. Urgal, Nolan, Steven, you lot are going round to the back entrance the south, here, take a look. There'll be at least four of them there but you can take them no bother. Just keep it quiet when you do, none of this war cry shite you come away with Urgal!"
"Aye boss, no shoutin'."
"There better be none, or it'll be your problem as much as mine. Once you are in lads, you're heading for the study room here, to grab the private dock key. Once you have it, get out and head for there. Got it Steven?"
"Boss." It was as much of a confirmation from Steven as the Boss was likely going to ever get, so he went on.
"Good. Now, Greg, we got ourselves the fun job you'll be pleased to know!"
Oh, fantastic! What could it possibly be? Reefing through chests of documents? Rummaging through piles of treasures until we get what we came for?
"What we looking for, Boss?" I ask without really caring all that much.
But then, the Boss laughed. That totally threw me off, and I stared at him blankly, not for a second comprehending what could possibly be funny. I was about to be told though, and I almost laughed myself.
"Not a 'what' lad, but a 'who'! We're in the kidnapping business tonight!"
Woah! I had not seen that one coming. This routine job had suddenly burst into unexpected life. We had never snatched a somebody before, always just somethings. This was really going to get interesting, and glancing round at the other three who stared at the Boss like kids in the presence of Santa, even Steven, I could see they thought so too. Such a revelation explained the lack of information about our latest escapade before now: the Boss had not wanted us over excited too early. I could understand why, but it hurt to be just told hours before the deed was to be carried out.
"But Boss...this is big...really big. Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Of course I knew why, I just needed an explanation, an apology perhaps.
"Ah, you know why, to keep you all in check. Don't want any over worryin' about such a small matter!" No apology, should have guessed. "Now listen up, the lot of you, 'cause here's what's gonna happen.
"Greg, as I say, you're with me. I'm going to be the one gettin' the guards out of your way, and you'll be the one nabbin' our target, got it?"
My mind was racing and I didn't quite 'get it' at all, but I had to keep that to myself. "Got you, Boss. What...who are we...taking though?"
The Boss smiled, a mischievious twinkle gleaming in his eye that disagreed with his rough features. "You'll love this one, lad, tonight we-"
And that's when the wall behind me exploded, and my whole world contorted about me. What did he say? was all I managed to think before all went dark, as if nothing strange had ever happened.
This is my first blog entry, and it is a poem I composed a couple of months ago. Feed back would be much welcomed!
So Late That It's Early
It's now so late that it's early;
Darkest light's now morning grey;
Cricket chirrup and owl hoot,
Replaced by birdsong, heralding day.
Yet still I'm awake.
Not a yawn do I make.
I am always awake.
I hear the first cars lumber past;
Bleary eyed drivers don't go so fast:
They're too weak to keep in control,
Plus they starve, having had to skip breakfast.
It's got to a stage
That sleep's vast shortage
Shapes a poorly image.
Tic-toc clucks the clock, on and on;
Seconds, minutes, hours: forever gone;
Whilst I mope around aimlessly,
Sleepless, asking the clock "When is dawn?"
What's a dream again?
I think I've forgotten;
They're stuff of legend.
I can't even think straight - how ridiculous:
Am I asleep or awake, is it early or late?
A nod of my head confirms I'm conscious.
Something went wrong there that I'm too tired to suss.
Eye lids droop down,
In drowsiness, still unfound:
A road to dream town.
Separate names with a comma.